


Red-Hot

by KatieBug1998



Series: Supernatural One-Shots, Sick Fics, Injured Fics, and Hurt/Comfort [27]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Loss, Cauterization, Gen, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt Sam Winchester, Injured Sam Winchester, Wendigo, cauterize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 04:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11306025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieBug1998/pseuds/KatieBug1998
Summary: Sam and Dean are stranded in the woods. It's snowing, there's a wendigo out there, and Sam's bleeding out.





	Red-Hot

There's too many things going against them.

Sam's leg hasn't stopped bleeding.

They have no idea where they are.

The snow is getting thicker.

It's getting darker.

The wendigo is still on their ass.

Dean doesn't think of it as giving up, more as taking a break and trying not to die. "All right, Sasquatch. We're gonna stop here for a few minutes." They make their way to a tall tree, Sam limping, an arm over Dean's shoulder. He lowers his younger brother to the ground underneath the tree where there isn't much snow. Sam's shaking violently, and Dean hopes it's because of the snow, not shock threatening to settle in.

"N-no, Dean," he protests through chattering teeth as Dean starts shrugging off his jacket. "You'll freeze."

"Shut up, Sam." He lays his jacket over Sam's shuttering frame. He reaches up and starts breaking off branches for a fire, tossing them on the ground. Dean thanks God the branches aren't to wet for his to start a fire. The brothers sit silently, letting the heat from the flames warm them.

Thoughts circle in Dean's mind. Their best chance of making it out alive is to stay here, keeping watch for the Wendigo until sunrise. But then there's the problem of Sam's leg. Dean glances discretely at his brother. Sam is still shivering and pale, eyes squeezed shut, but not making a sound. Dean can see the snow turning red with Sam's blood. That decides it.

"All right, Sammy." With the help of the knife, Dean rips Sam's jeans further to see the cut better. It's not good. It's really, really not good. The blood keeps flowing, soaking into the ground and the surrounding snow. Dean has no choice and he has to do it quickly. "All right, Sammy, try to relax, okay?" Sam nods jerkily.

Dean glances at his brother who eyes are still tightly shut. "Sammy," he says. He can't help the nickname that slips out of his lips every time something's wrong. He takes out his lighter and flicks it on, running it underneath the blade. Sam looks up and his eyes widen. He pushes back against the tree.

"Dean, please," he begs. Dean can't stand to cause his brother pain, but he has to do it and he has to do it now. This happened to Dean years ago; he remembers it vividly. The pain was worse than the injury itself. Stitches would've been better. The healing process wasn't that great either. And Sam knows all this because he was there. He watched his brother, his brother who was braver than anyone he knew, suffer through this. All Sam can do is give him that puppy dog look. It almost works. 

Dean kneels down next to his brother, the knife glowing red hot in his hand. Sam can't take his eyes off it. "Hey, look at me," Dean commands. "Don't look at that, look at me." Sam's eyes are already brimming with tears. The pain, the blood loss, the cold are all getting to him; it's too much. "I'll make it quick, okay?" Sam nods.

Dean thinks a minute. When he does this, Sam won't be Sam anymore. He'll scream and thrash and do anything to get away. So Dean straddles Sam, sitting on his shins so he won't be able to move. Dean spares a glance at Sam. He's clenching his jaw, pale, eyes slightly glazed over but fixed on Dean. "Everything'll be okay. I swear, okay?" Sam nods stiffly.

Without hesitation, Dean presses the flat of the blade against the injury. Sam screams. He blindly reaches out and grabs Dean's arm in a death grip, desperately trying to make the pain stop. When Dean finally takes the blade away, everything is quiet and Sam's hand has fallen into his lap; he passed out. Worse, he stopped shivering. He's going into shock. Dean curses.

"Alright, you son of a bitch!" he shouts. "Come and get it already." He holds the flamethrower out, ready to toast this sucker. "Come on, you cannibalistic freak! You killed enough people; now it's your turn!" There's movement about ten yards away. Then the beast runs out of the woods, straight at Dean. It's fast, but he's faster.

As soon as the monster drops to the ground, it's burning body quickly melting the snow around it, Dean drops to his knees next to his brother. "Sammy?" Sam's head rolls as Dean shakes his shoulder. Well, they've got two problems solved. Besides, the universe owes them some luck at some point, right?

• • •

Turns out, their luck didn't get them very far. They made it to the car in good time, but Sam wouldn't wake up and from what Dean could tell, he was in shock. For a second Dean's afraid he lost him, his pulse is so weak. So... hypothermia _and_ shock.

• • •

A lot of speeding laws were broken on the way to the hospital, but Dean wasn't pulled over, thankfully.

As soon as they get there, they're swarmed by hospital personnel. Dean follows them closely, but a nurse stops them at a set of double doors. "I'm sorry, sir, but –"

"Listen, lady," he interrupts. "I don't have time for this." He pushes past her, on the doctor's heels.

"Sir!" the nurse insists.

"Let him through," the doctor says. "I need you to tell me what happened," she directs at Dean.

They reach an exam room where Sam is moved from a gurney to an exam table. If it were under any other circumstance, Dean would make a joke about how his gigantor brother can't even fit on it, with his feet hanging over the edge. 

"We were out in the woods, hunting." Dean trails off as he watches people putting electrodes on his brother's chest and inserting an IV. "He cut his leg on the knife," he says, distractedly. "We got lost in the snowstorm. Our dad was a marine. He taught us about cauterizing wounds – What are you doing?" he cuts himself off when he sees them putting on an oxygen mask.

"Your brother – he is your brother, right?" the doctor asks, focusing on her patient still.

"Yeah. Sam. His name is Sam."

"Sam's breathing is shallow from hypothermia and blood loss. We need to get his oxygen levels up and the warm air is one way to help with the hypothermia." She moves to check Sam's leg. "Quick thinking," she comments. "We'll need to debride this and watch out for infection, but this might've saved his life." She says some things to one of the many people there. "What's his blood type?"

"A-positive."

"Good. Olivia will show you to the waiting room," she says abruptly. "I'm Dr. March by the way."

"Uh, nice try, but I'm not leaving."

She makes eye contact with his this time. "I have the authority in this situation, and I say you are. Someone will find you when Sam is more stable." She gets back to work. Some nurse grabs his arm and takes him out of the room.

• • •

Long after he finishes the health insurance paperwork, Dr. March walks up to him. "Finally." He stands up quickly. "How is he?"

"His temperature is rising, slowly but surely. He's unconscious now, but he was somewhat aware earlier. He kept asking for someone named Dean. I'm guessing that's you."

Dean laughs quietly and looks down at his shoes. "Yeah. That's me." He shakes his head. He looks back up. "Is he gonna be okay?" _Because I promised him he would be_ , Dean says silently.

"As long as his temperature continues to rise and he doesn't develop an infection. I can take you to his room now."

"Yeah. Please," he adds.

They start walking. "Sam will probably remain unconscious for a few hours, and he may be disoriented when he wakes up. He isn't in the ICU so you can stay in the room with him as long as you want to. We switched him from an oxygen mask to a nasal cannula. He's on a heart monitor and there are IVs for warm fluids and a blood transfusion."

"Got it," Dean responds. Not much phases him anymore. He just cares that Sam's okay, or going to be anyway.  

They reach the door to Sam's room. "If you have any questions, press the call button on the side of the bed, to Sam's left." She reaches a hand out to shake his; very formal.

"Thanks, doc." She nods and leaves. Dean goes in the room, closing the door quietly behind him, not that it would make much difference either way. The exhaustion is catching up with him. He pulls up a chair next to Sam's bed and sits. It's not the comfiest, but it'll do. 

Dean takes in the sight of his brother. He doesn't look much better. The main differences are the lack of blood actually on him and the machinery in the room. But Dr. March said Sam's improving and Dean's going to cling to that. Still, Dean can't push away the images of the last, what, twenty-four hours. A sick montage of those hours flashes before his eyes. The moment the wendigo slices open his brother's leg. Their trek through the snow as blood was slowly being drained from Sam. The moment when he pressed that red-hot blade against Sam's injury. 

Sam's screams and the monotonous, annoying beeping of the heart monitor are all he can hear.

• • •

How Dean managed to fall asleep, he doesn't know, but Sam's voice pulls him out of the darkness. "Dean?" he slurs. Dean sits up quickly.

"Sammy. Hey, man." He scoots the chair forward so Sam can see him better.

Sam's brows furrow in confusion. "What happened? Where am I?"

Dean puts on his reassuring, big brother face. "You're at the hospital. Wendigo tried to take a chunk outta you in the woods, remember?" Dean pauses, waiting to see a look of recognition on Sam's face. When that doesn't happen, he continues. "You lost a lot of blood. Went into shock." Sam only looks more confused now. "You're gonna be fine." Dean leaves out the part about cauterizing the wound. He'd really rather Sam not remember that.

Sam nods, but Dean can always tell what he's thinking. Sam still doesn't remember anything, but he doesn't want Dean to be worried about him. "Get some more rest and things'll be more clear when you wake up."

"Are you okay?" Sam asks. He's still slurring his words.

Dean puts on a smile. "I'm fine. Go to sleep, Sam."

Not needing to be told twice, Sam closes his eyes and falls asleep immediately.

• • •

The next time Sam woke up, he asked the same questions. It worried Dean, but Dr. March said Sam was doing good. Thankfully, he got less and less confused each time he woke up.

A few hours after Sam is starting to seem like himself again, Sam says, "It's okay, Dean."

"I promised it would be, didn't I?" Dean smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"No. Not that." He takes a deep breath. "I remember it." Dean leans back in his chair, not knowing how to feel. "I remember... what you did, and, yeah, it sucks but you had to do it. You don't need to feel guilty. I know what it's like... to have to hurt someone you love like that. You did what you had to do and you saved me." Sam smiles a little, just enough to make his dimples show. "So are we good?"

Dean returns the smile. "Yeah, we're good." 


End file.
